


I Want You

by rap_ture



Category: Everyman HYBRID, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Lore - Freeform, also there's some nsfw parts to this what do u expect the lady pegs her man, lore to their background and relationship WOO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rap_ture/pseuds/rap_ture
Summary: She stopped using her blog soon after she begun living with Evan — even so, how she released her emotions was unbeknownst to him, since she never willingly talked to him — but he still found himself going through, trying to decode each post, and more importantly, the climax of the blog; the story of her family and their demise. Everytime he read it, he felt he could gain a clue, something — and more deeply, another emotion he hated sensing, was maybe he'd find a fuck up in the logic and catch the lie — something that could help them. The mutual distrust between them, especially after Damsel had caught him continuously tearing through her blog, only grew.
Relationships: Evan & Stephanie (Everyman HYBRID), Evan/Stephanie (Everyman HYBRID)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	I Want You

**Author's Note:**

> TWO FICS IN TWO DAYS? insane i know ....

She was just like how she acted on her blog — vague, moody, and aloof. Occasionally, _sometimes_ , her humor would peak out, but her humor remained dry, dark, and odd — also something she allowed for a bit on her blog, albeit it was a bit forced. It made sense for her to be so sullen in general, even without being questioned — but it was also, and it made Evan feel guilty everytime this precise emotion overwhelmed him, _difficult_. It was difficult to live in his own home for the period where Damsel remained so defensive about everything; more so when he would gently pry. Not for information about her past, which Evan had no interest in (for sake of his own mentality) but more so of knowledge of the thing.  
  
She'd fix him that _look_ everytime he questioned, an intense glare with her eyebrows raised just an inch or so, barely visible above the rims of her glasses — and her lips would purse. He knew she knew more about it than she let on and he _wished_ she'd tell him, tell him more, his friends needed to know more than, really, anybody — but her statements of being uneducated about it continued to get thrown right back at him. Patience wasn't a virtue.  
  
She stopped using her blog soon after she begun living with Evan — even so, how she released her emotions was unbeknownst to him, since she never willingly talked to him — but he still found himself going through, trying to decode each post, and more importantly, the climax of the blog; the story of her family and their demise. Everytime he read it, he felt he could gain a clue, _something_ — and more deeply, another emotion he hated sensing, was maybe he'd find a fuck up in the logic and catch the lie — something that could help them. The mutual distrust between them, especially after Damsel had caught him continuously tearing through her blog, only grew.  
  
But even through the distrust, Evan still reached out to her for a while. About anything. A walk around town, the weather was pleasant; how about a video game, bioshock is fucking annoying _but_ a good time-killer; a movie, I have a wicked collection of movies, more specifically, lesser-known horror films; we could go eat dinner, maybe at some shitty diner, but it'd help, right? Right? And she said _no_. To everything. Patience isn't a virtue. A temper was never pricked, not his — he knew she had a wicked temper, by the way she'd snappily respond to some of his questions — but he could never allow his own anger flare up.   
  
Her distance, her dishonesty, her wariness, it made complete sense. It took a while for Evan to gaze through her eyes, understand her perspective (this sounds more heroic than the truth; it was during a one-sided argument, with Evan staring up at Damsel with a shocked look, that she brought up how selfish he was being — worse than her. _"You don't genuinely want me here, you want me here for your own sake."_ ) and he understood that. And maybe that was the truth — and it made him feel weird, _bad_ — he wasn't viewing her as the way she was, a human, but only another means to learn more, to help themselves (his friends).   
  
But he did care about her, despite the rocky beginning — he really, _really_ did. His persistence never wavered, once, but it wanted to — and sooner or later, he'd know it'd prevail, and he would make it up to her; their rocky beginning. He'd take her out to do something and he'd try and distract her from the bleak, awful reality she was trapped in; never forget, she couldn't do that, but something to help her.  
  
It did prevail. Finally, _finally_ — she agreed to go along with him to the local diner. Their relationship hadn't worsened, it simply stayed on a low neutral — he talked to her about whatever, from the news to sports to video games to movies (specifically, those lesser-known but _CLASSIC_ horror films) and she wouldn't respond, but she did listen. The drive there, Evan was in a particularly jovial mood — the music was blaring, the windows were rolled down, and despite the bitterly cold air biting away at any free expanse of skin, it felt like an amazing victory, for Damsel to _finally_ agree to spend time with him, so he could fix what he fucked up.   
  
"So, is this a date?" Damsel questioned after she turned down the music, turning to face Evan during a spotlight. Evan suddenly felt the realization of his ears burning; not because of the cold, but because of the blood rushing there, aggressively. She ditched the glasses for tonight, her eyes particularly vibrant and, if he was mis-reading the emotion then he was a dumbass, but it seemed playful. Teasing.  
  
" _No_."   
  
"Uhuh?"   
  
"Mhm." Evan fixed to look at her, his expression of feigned innocence — and for the first time yet, Damsel gave him a rare, but pretty, smile. It warmed him down to the very core; he found himself squirming in his seat, nervously grinning back. It felt stupid, way after their visit to the diner — when he was laying there, on the couch (because Damsel was the guest and the guest deserved the best; so his bedroom, essentially), he mulled it over.  
  
No, it wasn't a date and it certainly wasn't intended to come across as such — especially since their relationship was already so uneven in the beginning — but now, the stupid realization that yes, a _pretty_ woman was living with him, sleeping in his bed, and albeit their conversations were one-sided, extraordinarily useless and long, it still would come across to others in a weird perspective. And did Damsel believe this was a date? Did she feel for him like that? It made him, from each conversation and interaction forwards, pay closer attention to _her._  
  
The friendship blossomed from then on.   
  
She started attending his lonely, one-man movie nights — she wouldn't engage in the conversation afterwards, but simply listen, nodding or shaking her head to whatever she disagreed with or agreed. She'd start to walk along with him, but only for walks close to other settlements — the idea of walking in wooded areas made her feel deeply, deeply nauseous. It took a month or so (Evan wasn't counting days anymore) for her to begin to open up, talking a bit at a time. Her sentences were sharp, short, and right to the point — she didn't tip-toe around the subject the way Evan did, which he did for _her_ sake (she wish he didn't think she was so delicate). She didn't waste her breath on pointless opinions; if she didn't agree, she'd fix that glare on him, and if she agreed, she'd smile.   
  
He found himself purposefully delving into subjects he knew she enjoyed — art, mythology — so he could see more of her smile.   
  
It took a few weeks after she began to speak more and more for them to kiss. It was during one of their walks — around the busier streets, occasionally peering into random shops, to see what they offered — and they were hand-in-hand, something that used to surprise Evan because it was something _she_ always initiated on their walks. It felt normal now; with her tinier hand clasping onto his, occasionally squeezing, his heart _squeezing_ along with, as if her hand was grasping his heart. And she did, in a way, he supposes.   
  
She initiated the kiss, too — when he was turned away, looking at the traffic, at the scars; she used her free hand to hold onto the side of his face, so warm and soft under her fingertips, and half-assedly, carelessly, kissed him. She remembers how they both tensed the second their lips connected and how a car had honked, passing by — and how Evan turned away from the kiss, face scrunched angrily, about to tell them to fuck right off, when she kissed him again. And again. And again.  
  
Their relationship, their _romantic_ one, wasn't too different from how their friendship was, except there was a tad bit more affection, which Damsel _always_ initated. Evan didn't mind; he wanted to take this slow for her, because he knew she was unknowledgable about shit like this — so if on some days, she refused to sit close and closed back up, it was okay. Patience wasn't a virtue but he could wait, just for her. He would wait years if she needed.   
  
Evan didn't let the others know about their relationship until Damsel was okay with it, and for a while, she was barely okay with _herself_ — with allowing herself the gift of being cared for, and, ultimately loved. Did she deserve it? Did she really, truly deserve it? Evan would lean close whenever she rarely spoke about her emotions, really close, until their noses brushed — and he'd tell her then that she deserved the entire fucking world and more. He'd burn it down for her, if she wanted. He'd grow it back and bestow life, if she wanted. She deserved to be loved and she _needed_ it. Damsel had grinned at that, her thumbs brushing underneath his eyes, and has commented, "I don't need _anything_ , schmuck." And the two of them had laughed for a while.  
  
When they first fucked, or more accurately, _made love_ , it was also steered and controlled by Damsel. Evan remembers it extraordinarily and embarrassingly clearly — how she had straddled him, ultra-aware of how she purposefully positioned herself on top of him, and stripped away _his_ flannel that she was wearing, and _she wasn't wearing a bra underneath_? He never noticed that but he also didn't take to staring blatantly at her chest. And how she had grinned at his reaction, how he stupidly gaped — she dipped and kissed him, and kissed him and kissed him. They used rubber, a hilarious contrast to further fucks, and he remembers how she pinned his hands to her chest and rode him off into the fucking sunset.   
  
Their relationship steadily grew, more and more trusting, more caring and loving and affectionate — Damsel supposes the bad luck would strike soon, as it usually does, but she couldn't find herself _worrying_. She couldn't find herself working through her mind, as she usually does; or lying. She couldn't lie to him — however the ugly truth of Jessa's disappearance would _forever_ stay a secret — and she find herself so easily spilling out so much, about everything. From the truth of her family, to the loss of her old friends in school from the rumors her town had created against her — and she never was a crier, no, but it was during these sessions whenever she spoke to Evan, that she'd cry.   
  
He'd never point it out; he'd simply move her glasses, wipe the tears off of her face, and let her talk. He'd take the tie out of her pony-tail and tuck his fingers into her hair, lovingly stroking, and she'd fall apart so easily, crawling onto him and holding. It was disgusting, in her opinion, how _easily_ she fell apart; how she opened up for him (despite their relationship taking months to form, it still felt so quick). But most of all, during these episodes, how she wished he hated her. She wished that her stories would horrify him and that she'd get kicked out, quite literally, shoved into the streets so she could fend for herself. But . . . he didn't.   
  
He supported her, he cared about her, and that — that would feel so, _so_ much worse. Everybody she's loved, she's cared for; their personal association would her would screw them over, but it was _always_ because of her. She wishes Evan could gaze through her and see that she's the real sack of shit, not the thing that stalks them; she's the rat, the rodent, the scittering animal that once lingered outside her door, awaiting to kill her and her siblings.   
  
Some of her episodes weren't always explosive either, but sometimes the complete opposite. She'd revert, she'd regress to before — cold, distant, and unresponsive, almost. And Evan would be patient and wait it out for her. He'd still come over, as she ate listlessly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You're gonna be okay," was his favorite promise, and he intended to keep it, despite the lack of power and control he had. He _would_ keep her safe; and she'd keep him safe. The two of them would fight side-by-side; they'd protect and care for each other. And then, eventually, the life would drain back into Damsel — and she'd act as if nothing happened, ignorance is bliss, it truly is. She'd fuck him afterwards, and she'd let him be on top, let him gain control, with her legs wrapped around his hips, his mouth on her neck.   
  
It was then that Evan didn't put on a condom.   
  
The idea of a family to Damsel was simply forfeit. It was out of reach, out of hand, unattainable, and unattractive to her. A family for her was the one she _had_ and is gone — if the long line of her dead family, friends that haunted her every waking and sleeping moment wasn't a blatant enough rejection of her own family, then what the fuck was? But the idea of normalcy . . . of course that was attractive for her. To live with a husband, preferably Evan, in a bigger home, with their friends closer by — one child, the gender doesn't matter, a ray of sunshine is a ray of sunshine — and to continue as a freelancing artist, to get into _writing_ , pursue something, to have the freedom to do what she wished; of course it was yearned for, and she knows Evan yearned for it too.   
  
In a perfect world, of course.   
  
Pregnancy was something of a hell for Damsel — the cravings, the achings, the aggressive switch of moods, the plummeting depression, the urge to run away — it was all-too intense for her, to the point she leaned on Evan for so much, and he was so patient to her, he was always there for her. He'd brush his hands through her hair, which was beginning to fade it's die and lighten up and has gotten longer, and press a kiss to her forehead, and make some stupid joke — and it felt better, only for a few. The two of them would shop, for the baby, surprisingly _excited_ for the upcoming baby during these moments — with Damsel doting over how tiny the clothes were, for her _baby daughter_ , the little dresses and the shoes and the accessories.  
  
Her name was going to be Charlotte. Naomi's middle name.   
  
It was _so_ , so stupid of Damsel, to not take account of her unfortunate luck whenever she was allowed any shred of happiness — she found herself so overwhelmed with the nearing birth-date of Charlotte, so overwhelmed with support and love by Evan and Jeff and Vinny and Alex — that when she woke up that one, faithful night, Evan not beside her (her hand dangled out, fingertips only touching the covers), it had all finally settled on her shoulders, like a heavy sandbag. The terror made her throat dry up, her stomach dropping, and she sat up, dizzy, eyesight fuzzy — and she prayed he didn't die, that he was okay, maybe he's just using the bathroom, your emotions are overtaking you once more, you stupid bitch, stop freaking out. And lo, and behold, when she heard the front door open, a _loud_ bang, she had knew that her sudden terror was justified.  
  
All good things must come to an end.


End file.
